The People of the Black Sun (38 page)

She gripped the branch harder. Generations of civilization, of corn and squash, had fallen away from her, leaving the sublime purity of the wild behind—and like an ancient wolf she could smell the storm coming. The air tasted of snow and cold sweat. If it had been nightfall, she'd be digging her den in a snowbank, on the leeward side, where later she would be sheltered from the freezing darkness that engulfed the world outside.

“Baji, listen to me,” Dekanawida insisted. “It means nothing. I tell you it doesn't. Shago-niyoh frequently asks cryptic questions. He does it to teach—”

“I know. You've told me. But this is different. You and I both know it. I don't think he was trying to be cryptic. I think he came to help me find my way.”

Dekanawida clamped his jaw to keep it still, and gazed at her like a man who refused to believe in the Faces of the Forest though he saw one hovering right before his eyes. He balled his fists. Stubborn, he enunciated, “I—would—know.”

She smiled. All the love in her heart must have shone on her face, for his tight jaw hardened. “All right. I just needed to tell you. I was tired of carrying the weight of it by myself.”

She rose to her feet and adjusted her bow and quiver where they draped her left shoulder. Her weapons belt clacked. “I'm ready to go if you are.”

He drew a shallow breath and stood up. Short black hair blew over his face, and jet strands glued themselves to his high cheekbones. She hadn't realized he'd been crying.

Baji walked around the fire and embraced him hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. “Promise me that if you're wrong, you'll always take the time to stop and speak gently to old trees.”

He crushed her against him. In her ear, he hoarsely whispered, “I'm not wrong.”

 

Thirty-six

As Sonon watched them trot away, moving up the snowy trail that led to Shookas Village, he placed a hand on the ancient oak beneath which he stood and caressed the cold bark. It had a rough, ridged texture. He could feel the brave soul of the warrior who slept inside, breathing deeply. All around him, massive sycamores and giant chestnuts dotted the forest, each filled with an old, old warrior. They towered above the rest of the canopy, their winter twigs like dark trembling fingers grasping for wisps of drifting Cloud People.

Though Baji and Sky Messenger had vanished into the indigo shadows, the faint drumlike rhythm of their moccasins carried.

He closed his eyes to listen.

It was, perhaps, a strange truth that for most of their journey, human beings lived as impostors, wearing fear masks to ward off true intimacy. When their disguises at last failed, and they became truly present with one another, everything sensed it. Animals and trees turned to look. Great Grandmother Earth heaved a sigh. The universe itself tilted, balancing on each precious moment.

He didn't wish to disturb it. Better than most, he knew that great beauty and tears were inseparable, bound together in a crystalline shimmer of longing that tore the heart. Even at the end, love was the only thing that turned suffering into a beauty too great to be borne. Perhaps especially at the end.

A low bark split the morning.

Sonon opened his eyes to see Gitchi loping back down the trail. The old wolf stopped and cocked his head at Sonon, waiting, as though to say,
“What's taking you so long?”

As Sonon lifted his hand to the wolf, signaling that he was coming, his black hood waffled around his face. Gitchi's bushy tail wagged, then he turned and trotted back the way he'd come, returning to Sky Messenger's side.

Sonon expelled a deep breath and stepped onto the trail.

Carefully, so as not to smudge them, he placed his sandals in the tracks they'd left in the snow, hoping to touch their luminous paths, knowing that the dying world lay just ahead.

 

Thirty-seven

Atotarho stood before his campfire gripping the head of his walking stick with crooked aching fingers. The icy morning air had turned pink with the coming dawn. The heads of war clubs and arrow points glimmered as his warriors marched up the rise in the distance, weaving drunkenly across the old battlefield, avoiding the frozen corpses that covered the ground.

A smile turned his lips. Right now, High Matron Kittle must be shuddering, her knees quaking at the sight of over one thousand warriors surrounding Bur Oak Village. If he …

“My Chief?”

He turned to see Qonde and two wounded warriors climbing the slope to reach his camp. Atotarho had sent Nesi off to fight, which left Qonde in charge of his personal guards for the day. A short, stocky man, Qonde's hawkish face bore streaks of soot. The tall man behind Qonde had his left arm in a sling, and the other man wore a bloody head bandage. Several other wounded warriors stood waiting thirty hands away. From the looks of them, they'd probably been injured in last night's fiery debacle at Yellowtail Village. As Qonde got closer, Atotarho called, “What is it?”

Qonde spoke to the men, and came forward alone. “Forgive me, my Chief. War Chief Negano ordered the wounded to rest today, but these men would like to be of some use.”

“So put them to use.”

Qonde spread his arms. “I realize this is an intrusion, my Chief.” He respectfully bowed again. “But I cannot countermand Negano's orders without your approval.”

Annoyed, Atotarho waved the tall wounded warrior forward. “What is your name, warrior?”

“Saponi, my Chief.” The man bowed.

“Tell me what you wish to do? The battle is about to begin. I have more important duties than assigning menial tasks.”

Saponi shifted his slung arm as though it hurt, and his narrowed gaze went over the camps. His face was so blackened with ash and soot the whites of his eyes seemed to glow. Only about two hundred warriors remained scattered around dozens of fires. Most were wounded, useless. Several slept, curled as close to the fires as they could safely get. Somewhere, he heard corn popping.

Saponi said, “My Chief, it's hard staying out of the battle. There are many small duties we could accomplish to stay busy, carrying water, gathering branches for firewood, organizing the food stores.”

Saponi gestured, and Atotarho's gaze slid to the stockpiled food guarded by two exhausted warriors who appeared to be asleep on their feet. Haunches of venison lay on the ground before them as though dropped by men too tired to stack them. All around, pots of nuts and seeds canted at angles, about to topple over if someone didn't right them. The baskets of high cranberries that had been collected yesterday had been left uncovered. In the night, raccoons and other animals had strewn many across through the frosty grass.
Negano is so incompetent!

A shout went up. Atotarho turned.

Shrill calls carried across the hills as the first wave of his army began to move, at a slow march, closing in around Bur Oak Village. Far off, in the trees to the east and south, he saw the second and third waves slithering like long serpents, silently walking forward, their nocked arrows gleaming, readying themselves to lay siege. Clan flags of many colors hung slack in the morning stillness as men marched into position. Atotarho's blood began to surge in his ears.

“My Chief?” Saponi said softly.

Atotarho flicked a hand. “Yes, I place you in charge of such things. Now go away and let me concentrate.”

“Yes, my Chief. Thank you.” Saponi bowed deeply then nodded gratefully to Qonde for allowing him to approach Atotarho.

Qonde sighed and went back to his position with Atotarho's other guards. He could hear them joking, but couldn't make out the words. Nervous laughter erupted.

Saponi rejoined the group of wounded warriors, where he seemed to be assigning duties. Heads nodded, and warriors plodded off to obey whatever orders he'd given.

As Elder Brother Sun lifted from the World Tree, his shining face crested the eastern horizon and sunlight swathed the tallest branches with gold. Moments later, his light flooded across the valley, sparkling through the frost, turning it the palest of yellows.

Negano's voice rang out, giving the call to advance. Atotarho searched for his War Chief, but saw only his warriors charging forward. Atotarho had ordered Negano to hit hard immediately, hoping it would shock the enemy into submission. As the first line, men carrying ladders, raced to the exterior palisade, and attempted to climb up and over into the village, the second line, all archers, let fly. Up and down the Bur Oak catwalks enemy warriors fell, but it didn't stop the Standing Stone warriors. They concentrated their fire upon his warriors scaling the ladders, cleanly picking them off, leaving them lying in bristly heaps at the base of the palisade. From every direction, cries wavered in a singsong of agony. The Bur Oak defenders shoved away the ladders. Where they fell upon the frosty ground, they resembled crisscrossing sticks. The second line moved up and a third line of archers took its place, preparing to let fly. The fourth line, still in the trees, appeared to have frozen solid. They resembled human-shaped ice sculptures, white and still, watching.

“F-forgive me, my Chief,” Qonde said from behind Atotarho.

He swung around in rage.
“What?”

Qonde's shoulders hunched defensively. He extended a hand to point at a white-haired man with a battered face, scarred around the mouth like an old fighter. He wore a grim expression.

“Who is that?”

“Chief Wenisa of the Mountain People sent him to speak with you.”

“Tell him to come forward. Quickly.”

Qonde waved and the man came forward in a half-crouch, as though he couldn't straighten up.

“What is your name?”

The old man bowed. “I am Wasa, Beaver Clan of the People of the Mountain, and messenger for the great Chief Wenisa.”

“Yes, what is it?”

The square-headed elder took a breath, as though about to deliver a lengthy message. “Our Ruling Council wishes you to know that it received your message asking if we wished to participate in the final destruction of the Standing Stone nation—”

“Is it sending forces?”

“Yes. They should arrive in two days, if the weather—”

“How many?”

The elder shifted, as though not accustomed to being interrupted. “Two thousand will be at your disposal, providing we can come to an agreement. Our Ruling Council assigned me to negotiate with you.”

“Negotiate?” Atortarho glared. “I offered to split Standing Stone territory equally between our peoples. There's nothing else to negotiate. Either your Ruling Council wishes to accept, or it doesn't.” But a vague unease went through Atotarho. If two thousand Mountain warriors were on their way here, the situation could rapidly deteriorate. After today's battle, he estimated that he would have perhaps nine hundred warriors left. If Wenisa wanted, when he arrived, he could turn his forces on Atotarho's.

“With respect, Chief,” Wasa said. “Your offer of half the territory was enough to get us to send warriors, but not enough to guarantee our full support.”

From the corner of his vision, Atotarho saw his warriors launch a shimmering wave of arrows into the morning sunlight. He gritted his teeth, longing to watch, but kept his attention on the messenger.

“I see. What would be enough?”

Wasa took a moment to watch the volley strike Bur Oak Village. Screams, shouts, and cheers rose.

“Should we decide to give you our full support, the Mountain People's Ruling Council will wish to have your full support in return.”

“My full support to do what?” Atotarho gripped his walking stick, ready to strike the old hunchback if he didn't get to the point.

Wasa straightened slightly, as though sensing Atotarho's patience was at an end. “Just as you wish to completely destroy the Standing Stone nation, we wish to obliterate the Landing People. After we're finished helping you here, we ask that you lead your army back to the Landing villages and help us wipe them from the face of Great Grandmother Earth. In exchange, we will give you half of their territory.”